


Equal Measure

by Raicheru



Series: Here We Go a Witchering [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, growing relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: Jaskier contemplates his growing relationship with his Witcher and begins to wonder if he's really enough for the other man.  But when an impromptu rescue puts Geralt's life in danger, Jaskier puts himself in harms way without hesitation, not realizing that he's more than Geralt could have asked for.*Can be read as a one-shot.  Reading the entire series isn't necessary. Past events are referenced, but only in passing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Here We Go a Witchering [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654147
Comments: 31
Kudos: 566





	Equal Measure

**Author's Note:**

> I always had a general idea of where I wanted this to go, and it was supposed to be a sweet little character study about self worth. But the two of them got a lot more dramatic and angsty then I originally intended.

Jaskier had spent his whole life searching for pleasure, be it the carnal delights his reputation as a philanderer hinted at, the joys of good food and wine, or the simple happiness of bringing a smile to someone's face with a song. He hadn't been interested in bravery or of doing great deeds himself. His existence was wrapped around his music, every memory a song. But in his quest to chronicle the deeds of others, he'd gotten into some messy scrapes where he'd wondered if he'd get out alive again. Some, he ruefully admitted, were of his own making. Others seemed unavoidable and he'd had to depend on Geralt to save him. 

There were so many times that he'd thanked the stars that the Witcher looked out for him and cared enough to make sure he didn't meet an early end. But it was more than that now. The Witcher was, Jaskier realized, the love of his life. The fact that the man loved him back was still a marvel to him. A smile curled his lips and he sighed, a satisfied sound that left him warm. But it was a fleeting feeling. 

Their travels had inspired so many songs that gifted him with steady income and renown across the Continent. It really had been a dream come true when he'd spied the other man brooding in the corner of that tavern in Posada. It was more than he'd ever hoped for. He didn't, however, think that he was doing enough to make up for what he received. It was a mostly one sided relationship from his point of view. Even if he brought in coin for rooms and food, was that really enough to repay the man for changing his life? At the end of the day, all he really had to offer was himself. He wasn't sure it was enough.

Jaskier snapped another twig in his fingers and tossed it into the fire as he stared moodily into the flames. Poets were allowed to brood, he supposed, but this was typically Geralt's territory. He'd slipped into a pit of gloom recently and wasn't sure quite how to get himself out. Unbidden, his hand reached up towards his throat to graze the soft skin there. The bruises had long since faded, but the memories remained. He'd nearly lost his voice, and probably more, if Geralt hadn't come to his rescue. And weeks later, those Elven ruins might have become his tomb if the Witcher hadn't taken pity on a woman who asked him to save her lover even though he'd known no monsters were involved. Though in that case, it was a coincidence that the missing man had turned out to be Jaskier.

Roach whinnied as if she could feel his solemn mood. Giving her a wry smile, he pulled an apple from his pack and sliced off several large pieces. The horse shifted in his direction when he came over and held out a piece on the flattened palm of his hand. He ran his hand down her nose affectionately. 

“He'll be back eventually.”

Geralt was currently off hunting for something to eat. This was the first time they'd been out in the wild in a while and their meager traveling pantry was starting to look rather bare. Up until now, they'd been staying in inns more often than usual which was odd. Geralt didn't enjoy being around other people that much. Jaskier usually had to entreat with him to stay in town instead of camping out in the woods. A soft smile played at his lips. Foolish Witcher. Brooding and silent like a slab of angry, muscular rock. But it was mostly on the outside. He had a heart as soft and golden as any Jaskier had seen in his travels. 

“What are you grinning about?” The gravely voice wrapped around Jaskier's heart and squeezed with gentle fingers. He heard Geralt's steps in the dead leaves carpeting the forest floor. Had he wanted to, the Witcher could have moved silently. But a lot of the time, he chose to announce his presence without speaking. 

“Oh, I was just laughing at delightful joke. Roach is a far better conversationalist than some people I could mention.” He was rewarded with a snorting huff of amusement and he smiled again as he fed Roach the last piece of apple. 

When he turned, Geralt was spitting two rabbits over the flames. They'd already been skinned and cleaned. More often that not, all of the game Geralt procured was already prepared for cooking before he returned to camp. While Jaskier enjoyed cooked meats of all kinds, the act of skinning made him retch every time. But he always tried to hide it. As much as he loved to prod the Witcher, this was something he'd been dealing with his whole life, and it was a weakness he was loath to admit. Jaskier's heart did a gentle flip in his chest as he realized that Geralt had been sparing him the sight for a long time now. And it had started long before he suspected that the other man had feelings for him other than irritation and impatience. 

He settled on the log next to Geralt and felt a small shiver run up his spine as he reveled at their closeness. He jumped when something dark enveloped him.

“What the-?” He fumbled a bit before he was able to find his way out of the cloak that had been thrown over him. Flipping the fabric back off his face, he glared at his companion from under his mussed bangs. “Was that really necessary?”

Geralt reached forward and brushed his fingers across his forehead, brushing the hair away. His hand lingered for a moment before trailing down his cheek. “You never dress warm enough to be out at night.” He turned back to the fire and rotated the rabbits on the spit. “And you need a hair cut.” 

“Says the mountain man who looks like hasn't seen a razor in months,” Jaskier sniffed. Enough time had passed since their time Novigrad for the Witcher's hair to get a bit long and bedraggled looking, and the scruff of beard was starting to grow in. Jaskier would have to sit him down for a trim, or maybe even a shave if he was feeling particularly trusting. He tucked the loose ends of the cloak around himself but he wasn't about to admit how chilly he was feeling. The fire warmed the front of him but his back muscles were stiffening up in the chill. “I heard somebody mention a Griffin up in Tridam.”

“Hn. Probably just a rumor. They prefer mountains and don't like being near the coast or cities,” Geralt said, turning the rabbits. 

Jaskier sat quietly and listened. He often did most of the talking himself, but he tried not to interrupt on the rare occasions that Geralt shared the decades worth of knowledge from his time as a Witcher. 

“Do they usually stay in once place?”

“Generally, yes. They mate for life and will stay in the same area their whole lives once they've nested. That's why pairs are more dangerous. One will fight to the death if the other is injured.” 

Something stirred in Jaskier's middle, tightening down low. The thought of tying himself to another for the rest of his life had always been distasteful. Many of his previous lovers had wanted him to stay and some of them had become bitter and resentful that he couldn't fulfill that wish for them. But the idea of traveling with this man, of spending his remaining days at his side felt different. Jaskier snuggled into the cloak and considered the warmth that was growing within him as he leaned against Geralt's side. He pressed in closer when the other man's arm came around him. Yes, indeed. He could happily spend the rest of his life right here.

*******

The next day, they were traveling down a side road that wound around the edge of a thick patch of forest at the foot of the nearby mountains. Jaskier walked along and plucked at his lute as he worked on finding the words to describe the depths of love that tied two souls together. If he could figure out how to phrase it just right, he might have a contender for winning the competition in Vizima this summer. He turned to look up at Geralt who had pulled Roach to a stop. Jaskier automatically stilled the strings with his hand to allow him to hear whatever it was. When everything was quiet, he could hear something that sounded like crying. 

Geralt started moving again, and around the next corner, there was a cart sitting askew on the side of the road a few yards away. The horse guiding it was dead in the traces, it's body twisted and sprawled on its side. Roach's nostrils flared and she wuffled nervously. Jaskier moved up and put a comforting hand on her nose as he swung the lute on its strap to hang it behind him. He automatically accepted the reigns as Geralt dismounted to investigate. The Witcher pulled out his sword and crept around the side of the wagon, but whatever he saw had him sheathing it again. The was a quiet gasp and Geralt said something quietly while gesturing for Jaskier go come closer. 

Jaskier looped the reigns over the saddle, knowing that Roach wouldn't wander far, and came around the side of the cart. A young man was crouched on the ground, trembling in fear with wide eyes as he stared up at Geralt. The Witcher was standing a few feet away, trying to appear non-threatening. 

“Hello there,” Jaskier said softly as he held up his empty hands. “We won't hurt you.” 

The young man pressed back into the cart as he saw Jaskier and his eyes kept flicking back to Geralt, but his breathing slowed and he no longer looked like he was going to bolt. Jaskier pulled out a clean handkerchief and held it out. There was a gash on the boy's temple that was bleeding sluggishly.

“I'm Jaskier and this is Geralt. Don t' worry, he doesn't bite.” The light tone fell awkwardly flat, but Jaskier persevered. “What's your name?”

“Doran,” the boy said after a moment. He just looked at the proffered piece of fabric dumbly like he wasn't sure what to do with it. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked him gently as he knelt cautiously and reached out to dab at the wound. The boy flinched, but allowed him to press handkerchief against his temple. It was obvious that he'd been attacked, but it was hard to tell by whom. Or what. Geralt was circling the cart slowly, trying to inspect the cart while still keeping them in sight. 

“Monsters,” the boy started as tears welled in his eyes. “My brother. . .” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They took him.”

Geralt's eyes flicked up from where he was running his hand along a gash at the front of the cart. His look said volumes even though he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. Even Jaskier knew that most monsters didn't typically abduct people. They might take them for food, a thought that made the bard swallow convulsively, but he didn't see much blood or any drag marks. 

“Did you see what they looked like?” Jaskier asked. The boy looked at him like he was stupid.

“Like monsters.” 

“Where did these monsters go?” Geralt said, speaking for the first time. The boy flinched, and raised a shaking hand to point across the grass beside the road into the trees. Geralt moved in that direction, scanning the ground carefully, but if he found anything, he didn't share it. “Stay here,” he said and moved off into the trees. 

“Really? That doesn't always work out well, if you recall.” Jaskier stood and placed a hand on his hip. He really didn't want to be left behind.

Geralt stopped and turned, his expression clearly annoyed as he nodded at the boy. “Take Roach and make camp on the other side of the road out of sight.” He stalked off without waiting for an answer. 

If it were just the two of them, they both knew he'd follow him anyway. But Doran looked dazed and Jaskier didn't want him to leave him by himself.

“Right, then.” Turning, Jaskier whistled experimentally. Roach just eyes him balefully and pawed at the ground with her hoof. “Yeah, I didn't think that would work either. Well, my young friend, now that the big, scary Witcher is gone, let's move over there a bit and make a fire.” 

Doran seemed to relax without Geralt there, but he was still spooked.

“Are you hungry? I'm starving.” Pulling out a small pouch, Jaskier dumped out a few pieces of candied nuts into his palm and held them out. After a moment, Doran tentatively took one and put it in his mouth. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and Jaskier lowered his estimate of the boy's age a couple years. He smiled back and nodded toward the other side of the road. “Come on. We'll start a warm fire and get you cleaned up. I'll make some tea, it'll be lovely.”

Doran slowly got to his feet and Jaskier looked him over to make sure he wasn't bleeding anywhere else or limping, but he seemed alright and his gaze was clear. The bard snagged Roach's reigns and she followed him easily into the brush on the opposite side of the road. In a short while, he had a fire going and Doran was working his way through what was left of their supplies. He'd eaten half a loaf of bread and and was working on his third apple while they waited for the water to boil. It was lucky there was a town nearby so they could restock before they moved on. But first, they'd have to find out where to bring Doran and his brother, if Geralt managed to find him.

Jaskier spent some time alternately trying to learn more about his young companion and trying to entertain him. He didn't learn much. When Doran was done eating, he sat quietly watching the fire, occasionally glancing back the way they had come. But he didn't say anything and he almost seemed bored now that the danger had passed. Once the boy was calm, Jaskier finally got up and and went into the trees to relieve himself which was becoming a more pressing issue by the minute. But he soon heard Roach starting to make a fuss and cursed himself for being complacent. What if the bandits had come back? Finishing and tucking himself away, he scrambled back to camp, tripping over hidden roots in his haste. When he came back to the fire, Roach was tugging at the reigns where he'd tethered her. She shrieked a warning and Jaskier saw stars as something hard hit the back of his head. 

When he came to his senses, his head ached terribly. But when he went to feel for a wound, he found that his hands were bound in front of him. Pushing himself up on his hands and knees Jaskier saw Doran staring down at him with a cold expression from Roach's saddle.

“Finally,” he sneered. “Come on.” Yanking on the rope that was attached to Jaskier's bound hands, he started riding away. Jaskier was forced to stumble to his feet and follow.

“Doran-”

“Shut up,” the young man said lazily, yanking on the rope and making Jaskier stumble. He kept quiet, not wanting to be dragged through the woods by his wrists. They walked back to the road, passing the downed wagon and headed into the woods where Geralt had gone earlier. Jaskier walked on in silence, hoping that the other man would show up. He felt a hot flash of angry embarrassment creep up his neck at how stupid he'd been. Jaskier was usually good at reading people and he'd missed this entirely.

As they came into a small clearing, Jaskier saw three armed men standing around congratulating themselves. Geralt lay on the ground over to one side with his left arm bent awkwardly beneath him. Jaskier couldn't tell if he was breathing.

“Geralt!” Jaskier pulled at the rope and tried to get to him and when Doran tried to reign him in, Jaskier yanked hard enough to pull him off Roach's back. The startled horse bolted into the trees and disappeared. 

“For fuck's sake, Doran,” one of the men said with scorn. “You were supposed to bring the horse. That was the point.”

Jaskier ignored them and dropped to his knees at Geralt's side. His armor seemed intact but there was a gash on his right bicep that was red and angry, the edges of the wound inflamed and dark. He didn't have time to check him any further as he was dragged to his feet.

“What do we have here?” The man who'd scolded Doran hefted up Jaskier by his doublet. He raked his eyes up and down his bright silks and sneered. “A peacock?” 

“He's a bard,” Doran said from somewhere behind them. 

“Was he alone?” 

“Yes. Why do you think it took so long? I was waiting to see if anyone else would show up like you told me to.” Doran shrugged. “I'm young, not stupid.”

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked the man who held him. 

“Nothing, because you have nothing. What use is a bard to me?” 

“Perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his voice waver. He could talk his way of this, surely. The man released his clothes and backhanded him hard across the face, making him spin and fall to the ground. He fell on top of Geralt who hadn't moved since he'd arrived. Something warm trickled down his chin from where his lower lip had split and his already aching head was spinning.

“Go on Rek,” the man said. “Get the Witcher's head. That should be worth something at least.”

“NO!” Jaskier threw himself protectively over Geralt, covering his unconscious body with his own and reaching his bound hands up over Geralt's head. They'd have to chop off his damn arms to get a clear shot. Jaskier felt the prick of something sharp against the middle of his back and he turned his head to see the man holding a sword on him. 

“Isn't that sweet? You must be the bard we've heard about in the stories.” His voice was saccharine and mocking before shifting into something far more cold. “Move.”

Jaskier shook his head. “No.” His denial was a shuddering whimper. There was nothing he could do against four armed men and without Geralt's help, there was no way he was getting out of this. He felt desperate tears welling in his eyes. It wasn't fair. To have survived everything they'd been through only to die at the hands of common bandits.

“Fine. I'll just skewer you both and then cut his head off.”

Pressing his face into Geralt's neck, Jaskier trembled and waited as he felt the tip of the sword pierce his skin. The razor cut of the blade sang through his back, his muscles struggling not to clench around the agonizingly slow movement. He couldn't hold in the sobbing cry of pain that welled up in his throat as he forced himself to hold still. The man was taking his time.

“Just fucking do it!” Jaskier cried, not wanting to endure the agony of a slow death. There was a sudden cool wash of magic and the sword was yanked free, making him gasp. 

And then there was chaos. He could hear shouting over the roar of blood in his ears. Jaskier looked up to see the bandits fighting each other. There was an odd glow in their eyes. Doran watched in horror as the man who had threatened Jaskier cut down the other two men before advancing on him. 

“Abram. It's me, Doran.” He scrambled back and drew a knife. “What the fuck?” 

Geralt's fingers twirled again and Doran's eyes shifted before he threw himself at Abram, wielding the knife with deadly skill. Jaskier looked away, but when it was quiet again, he knew they were both dead. This was not a skill that Jaskier saw Geralt use very often. He considered Axii too manipulative and it was usually only to calm people, calm his horse, or to tip a conversation in a direction that would save lives. 

Looking down at his Witcher, Jaskier saw Geralt's heavy lidded eyes looking up at him. Using the sign seemed to have drained the last of his strength and his hand fell to the ground. 

“Geralt,” he said, drawing himself up to brace his bound hands on the other man's chest. “Geralt!” But the other man's eyes remained closed. 

Jaskier struggled to his knees, ignoring the fiery burn of the wound on his back. He could feel it bleeding, the slow trickle of blood dribbling down his back to soak into the waistband of his trousers. Taking a knife from Geralt's belt, he cut himself free, swearing when he nicked the heel of his left hand. His wrists were already reddened from the rough rope and he tossed the bloodied coils aside before cupping Geralt's face in his hands. His skin was warm, abnormally so. His breathing was even but when Jaskier leaned down to press his ear to the other man's chest, his heartbeat was way too fast. At least it was too fast for a Witcher. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. A single gash shouldn't have been enough to do this.

Jaskier looked around the small clearing, doing his best to ignore the bloodied bodies as he desperately searched for something, anything that would help. There were two horses picketed off to one side who were shifting nervously at the scent of blood. He got up and went over to rifle through their saddlebags. But all he found was some jewelry and coins, and a few other items that must have been confiscated from other travelers. Jaskier swallowed hard and tried to breath shallowly when he saw two crumpled forms beyond the pickets. It was a man and a woman, probably the owners of the cart. They looked like farmers and they'd died badly. 

Jaskier cursed himself as his hands shook and tears finally started to fall from his brimming eyes. So stupid. Doran had just been a lure. This whole thing had been a trap. A stupid, successful trap that they should have avoided easily. The crack of breaking branches made him whirl around, brandishing the knife that was somehow still in his hand. He nearly cried in relief when Roach came forward.

“Come here, Darling. I need you.” Jaskier went over to her so he could get to Geralt's gear. He had to walk along with her as she kept stepping forward so she could lean down over her fallen master. “Stop moving, for pity's sake,” he said, struggling to get the saddlebag open. “I can't help him if you don't stop moving.”

Digging in the pack, he pulled out some bandages and the small chest where Geralt kept his Witcher potions. He'd just spent the last couple of days brewing so he could restock his supplies. Jaskier pulled out the small bottle of red liquid. He knew it promoted healing, but wouldn't restore it completely. If it did anything at all to help him now. Jaskier had no idea what the other ones did. Geralt wasn't terribly forthcoming with potion information aside from being adamant that every single one was deadly to humans. Jaskier hadn't pried, but now he wished that he'd needled him more to pry the information out of him. 

Kneeling down at Geralt's side, he cupped his jaw before opening his mouth slightly. Trailing his fingers down, he massaged his throat lightly. Jaskier was relieved to feel the other man's Adam's apple shift under his fingers as he swallowed reflexively. He popped the cork and dribbled a little bit of the potion into his mouth, massaging his throat to make it go down. Geralt coughed and Jaskier shoved against his shoulder to roll him onto his side just in case he started to choke on it. The other man's breathing picked up. 

“Oriole,” Geralt wheezed. 

“What?” Jaskier leaned down over his shoulder to look him in the face. 

“Golden Oriole.” 

“Geralt, this is hardly the time for bird watching.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes to glare up at him. “It's a potion. The yellow one. Narrow bottle.”

“There wasn't a yellow one,” Jaskier said. He scrambled over to the box and dragged it back over to check. There were several colors but none of them were yellow. He tipped the box so the other man could see and nearly dumped them out onto the ground. Jaskier had to juggle, resting it on the dirt with a tinkle of shifting glass. He blew out a shaky breath.

“Shit,” Geralt breathed. He lifted his hand to take the red bottle, but his arm dropped before he could reach it. Jaskier, cupped the back of his head and held the bottle up, helping him drink the rest. Geralt finished it off and lay back down.

“What happened?” Jaskier asked him, inspecting the wound and grabbing a water skin so he could clean it carefully and apply a temporary bandage around it. Geralt's limp arm was heavy and he had to shift awkwardly to keep it in place to wrap the fabric. “This looks inflamed, but not completely horrible. I've seen you get worse and walk it off like it didn't matter.”

“Poison.”

“How?” Jaskier nearly recoiled when Geralt shifted and held up his left arm weakly. There was an inky black snake-like creature wrapped around his left arm loosely from wrist to elbow.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Obsidian leech. Need to. . .” Geralt paused to swallow. “cut it off.”

Jaskier held up the knife he'd set aside. “Oh, gosh.” But every time he moved it toward Geralt's arm, his hands started to tremble. Geralt gripped his hand with steady fingers, using his good arm to stabilize him.

“Steady.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for the advice. You're wisdom is a marvel because I was just going to cut your arm off at the elbow. Much easier.” Jaskier trailed off in a nervous giggle. He held Geralt's calm, golden gaze and tried to ease the shaking. When he spoke again, all he could manage was a whisper through his suddenly dry throat. “Oh, Gods. Please don't let me cut you.”

“Just pry the head off. Near my elbow. I'll get the rest.”

Jaskier braced his arm on Geralt's chest and together, they slipped the tip of the dagger under the rounded end of the leech. The seal was broken with a wet, sucking sound. Oh. It had wicked looking little needle teeth. Geralt clenched his jaw as he released Jaskier's hand and reached over to grip the thing just behind it's sucker mouth before ripping it off. It let out a sickening squeal as he crushed it's head in his hand and threw it away. Jaskier blew out a breath but knew he didn't have time to relax. He cleaned the wound from the nasty little beast and wrapped it with a bandage. Geralt was starting to develop a fever.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Jaskier trailed off as Geralt shook his head back and forth. 

“It's not fatal. My body should cleanse it out. But slower than with a potion.”

“Can we make one?”

“No. Don't have the ingredients.”

“To town then. We're close.” The distant howl of wolves cut the darkening twilight air. Figured. That's the way their luck seemed be heading today. “Right,” Jaskier said. “We need to get there as soon as possible. I just need your help to- Geralt!” Jaskier leaned in with his hands on Geralt's face, brushing his hair away from his forehead when the other man's eyes slipped closed. “Geralt, please! We need to go and I can't lift you!” Jaskier's voice cracked as he pushed at the other man's arm. He was rewarded for his efforts when Geralt groaned and tried to brace himself to move. Jaskier helped him sit up and stayed kneeling close at his side to hold him upright. “There we go,” he said gently, waiting patiently while Geralt got his bearings. Standing was going to be a challenge, but they couldn't stay and he wasn't leaving him out here. Jaskier held out a hand to Roach. “Come here, Lovely.” 

The horse obediently came over toward them which was a small miracle. Jaskier wasn't sure how he managed, but he helped Geralt stand up, the other man's weight making his knees tremble. But every time he felt himself falter, he pushed harder to keep the Witcher upright. They'd get there. They had to. Geralt clung to Roach's saddle on one side while Jaskier held him up on the other. His back was screaming but he ignored it and together, they trudged to the road and toward town. He was vaguely aware that they were traveling in the right direction, but didn't notice much else.

When they got within sight of the inn, there was shouting and Jaskier feared the worst. Men came forward and took Geralt from him and Jaskier fought them.

“No, don't!” When he reached out to push them away, the stretch of his back muscles made something tear. The white pain of it blotted out his vision and he cried out as he fell to his knees. He thought he heard Geralt's voice calling him but everything faded away. 

*******

Jaskier woke to find himself laying on his left side in a soft bed. His right hand was cradled in Geralt's larger palm where it lay on the mattress in front of him. The Witcher was sitting in a chair next to the bed with his bandaged arm resting on his lap. He head was tilted back until it rested against the wall, the column of his throat bared. Jaskier felt the tight wrap of bandages around his chest when he shifted and the tight pull of stitches in the middle of his back. Geralt's fingers tightened on his hand when he felt him moving.

“Carefully,” The Witcher murmured. 

“Ow,” Jaskier mewled pitifully as he forced himself to lay still. This was probably the most pain he'd ever been in. 

“Hurt?

“Hmm.” Talking felt like too much effort. Geralt helped him tip his head back so he could pour a bitter tasting potion into him. “Blech.”

Geralt chuckled. “All of them taste awful. That's how you know it's working.” 

“You okay?” 

Geralt's eyes appeared clear and his movements were smooth as he turned and sat forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. His wounded arm didn't seem to trouble him. 

“Never in my life has anyone put themselves between me and a sword,” he said quietly. His golden gaze was solemn and troubled.

Jaskier just looked at him helplessly, his eyes welling up. “They were going to. . .”

“I know. And it probably won't be the last time. Jaskier you can't. . .” Geralt trailed off in a sigh. “Don't do that again.” 

“It probably won't be the last time,” Jaskier said, holding his gaze steadily. His lip quivered and he pressed his mouth tight to still it. The potion was dulling the pain and he shifted to try and sit up. He didn't want to have this conversation lying down. Geralt steadied him, his hands coming to rest on his shoulders once he was upright. “If I think there is even a chance that I can save you, I will take a thousand swords.”

Geralt pulled back, his lip curling. “Don't be melodramatic, Jaskier.”

“I'm not!” Jaskier snapped as a tear slipped down his cheek. He hadn't realized until now how scared he'd been of losing him. He wasn't sure he could let himself be stabbed in the back willingly, knowing now how much it hurt. Jaskier wasn't that brave. But he knew he'd throw himself in front of danger if the other man fell again. He probably wouldn't be able to stop himself. 

It wasn't Geralt being incapacitated that frightened him. The first time they met, they'd both ended up unconscious and tied up as Elven prisoners with their captors threatening to kill them. That was the first time Jaskier had really seen what kind of man Geralt was. Beyond the legends and the promise of adventure had been a man trying to bargain for the freedom of a stranger that had done nothing but annoy him at first sight. But to have his life ended so cruelly after being ambushed by a manipulative trap. It would have been such a waste. 

“There are only two ways I would want your Path to end,” Jaskier said. “During a hunt that no one on this earth could complete, or quietly in your sleep long past the time you'd found peace.” His voice was quavering with emotion and he sniffed, not caring what he looked like. He dared the other man to challenge him. Geralt stared at him looking utterly lost. They sat there during another one of those moments that seemed to slow time. Then Geralt was leaning forward, his expression tense as he braced his hands on the bed on either side of Jaskier's hips. If he thought that Jaskier would back down from this, he was wrong. But instead, he caught his lips in a kiss so tender, Jaskier let out a soft, wounded sound. 

“You undo me, Bard,” Geralt said softly against his lips. 

Jaskier leaned forward to press their foreheads together, letting the tears fall in earnest. His own death was a certainly one of these days. He honestly didn't see himself dying of old age and the thought didn't bother him nearly as much as it probably should have. But the idea of traveling the Continent alone again, knowing that the man before him was gone forever opened a chasm in his heart that tore at him more than the wound in his back. 

Geralt shifted forward in his seat to cup Jaskier's face in his hands and brushed the tears away gently with his thumbs along his cheekbones. He said nothing more as he breathed steadily in and out, his breath brushing along Jaskier's collarbone. Jaskier pulled back a little when he heard the other man humming under his breath. It was the melody Jaskier had been playing while they walked along the road. Geralt abruptly stopped when he realized what he was doing, looking slightly abashed. 

“Whatever you've been playing lately is stuck in my head.” 

Oh. He'd definitely have to find a way to make him blush like that again. It was wonderful. Now he'd really have to finish the song. The lyrics were already arranging themselves in Jaskier's head as he leaned forward to kiss his Witcher again.

**Author's Note:**

> In the first draft, I wanted Jaskier to get Geralt to the village and have him nurse him back to health while ignoring his own injuries. But then he just passed out in the road on me and everything changed.
> 
> When I write, it's often like that episode of Futurama where Leela writes a kids show about Rumbledy-Hump by typing what the little critters are doing. I'm watching the characters go through the motions of what I want and I describe what I see them doing in my head. But sometimes, they just go off on their own and do their own thing because it makes more sense (sometimes.) In my imagination, they'll even stop and look at me when I ask them to do something dumb. Anyway. Enough rambling. Thank you for reading.


End file.
